chilly. Shivering, and with chattering teeth, I made out to say, "A
piece of paper would do it." Raising his head hastily, it came crash
against the edge of the marble shelf. Involuntarily I shut the door,
and leaned against it, to wait for the effect of the blow; but feeling
a pressure against the outside, I yielded to it, and moved aside. Mrs.
Somers entered, with a candle flaring in one hand, and holding with
the other her dressing-gown across her bosom.

"What are you doing here?" she asked harshly, but in a whisper, her
eyes blazing like a panther's.

"Doing?" I replied; "stay and see."

She swept along, and I followed, bringing up close to Desmond, who had
his hand round his head, and was very pale, either from the effect
of the blow or some other cause. Even the flush across his cheeks had
faded. She looked at him sharply; he moved his hands from his head,
and met her eyes. "I am not drunk, you see," he said in a low voice.
She made an insulting gesture toward me, which meant, "Is this an
adventure of yours?"

The blaze in her eyes kindled a more furious one in his; he stepped
forward with a threatening motion.

Anger raged through me--like a fierce rain that strikes flat a violent
sea. I laid my hand on her arm, which she snapped at like a wolf, but
I spoke calmly:

"You tender, true-hearted creature, full of womanly impulses, allow me
to light my candle by yours!"

I picked it from the hearth, lighted it, and held it close to her
face, laughing, though I never felt less merry. But I had restrained
him.

He took the candle away gently.

"Leave the room," he said to her.

She beckoned me to go.

"No, you shall go."

They made a simultaneous movement with their hands, he to insist, she
to deprecate, and I again observed how exactly alike they were.

"_Desmond_," I implored, "pray allow me to go."

A deep flush suffused his face. He bowed, threw wide the door, and
followed me to the foot of the stairs. I reached my hand for the
candle, for he retained both.

"You, pardon first."

"For what?"

"For much? oh--for much."

What story my face told, I could not have told him. He kissed my hand
and turned away.

At the top of the stairs I looked down. He was there with upturned
face, watching me. Whether he went back to confer with his mother,
I never knew; if he did, the expression which he wore then must have
troubled her. I went to bed, wondering over the mischief that a candle
could do. A